


(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To

by Netgirl_y2k



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyguard, F/F, Lesbian Character, Politics, Romantic Comedy, past Sansa/Margaery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/pseuds/Netgirl_y2k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arianne’s pansexual quasi-incestuous drama had always managed to put whatever lesbian drama Margaery was dealing with into perspective.</p><p>Or,</p><p>Margaery is the heiress to a political dynasty, and while she's getting over a bad breakup with a Teen Choice Award winner she develops a crush on her painfully shy new bodyguard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To

Margaery’s grandmother presented Brienne to her like an overly tall, badly dressed Christmas present.

Worse, she presented her at six thirty in the morning when Margaery wasn’t exactly alone in descending the stairs of the Tyrell family mansion.

Eleanor was pretty, a redhead, and an intern on her grandmother’s campaign staff. It wasn’t that Margaery was trying to sneak her out of the house, as much as she was trying to make sure that her one night stand didn’t get any ideas about breakfast invitations or repeat performances.

Eleanor squeaked when she saw Olenna standing at the bottom of the stairs and looked like she might like to bolt back into Margaery’s room to hide under the bed.

“Don’t fret, little mouse,” said Margaery’s grandmother. “You’re far from the first girl I’ve caught my granddaughter trying to sneak out of this house. You’re not even the first one this week.”

“Grandmother!” said Margaery with feigned offence.

“Margaery, come along. My driver will take your little friend home, and then you must meet Brienne–” this Brienne had straw coloured hair, wore an ill-fitting man’s suit, and dominated the Tyrell front hall even in her shiny, flat brogues “–she’s your new bodyguard.”

*

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” insisted Margaery. She and her grandmother had retreated into Olenna’s office, which was littered with _Olenna Tyrell For Governor_ paraphernalia. Brienne stood awkwardly in the front hall; Margaery couldn’t picture her standing any way but awkwardly. “I’ve been the granddaughter of the governor since I was a child. Dad used to take me to your re-election events in my elementary school uniform.”

“This will be your first campaign as the openly gay granddaughter of the governor.”

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Does that mean Loras gets a hulking great bodyguard of his very own too?”

“Loras did not come out in quite the same spectacular fashion as you,” Olenna said drily.

Margaery’s brother was dating Renly Baratheon, of the King’s Landing Baratheons, and Renly had political aspirations of his own; Loras’ closet was a glass one.

“And there have been one or two threats received by the campaign,” Olenna admitted. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure, but keep Brienne close - I’m told she’s really rather singular.”

*

Margaery rang Loras and informed him that she blamed him entirely for failing to step up and take his rightful place as the gay poster-child of the Tyrell family.

She mentally composed eloquent, expletive filled diatribes against whatever sad little internet troll had spooked her grandmother into hiring her a bodyguard.

She wrote a long e-mail to Sansa Stark telling her that this was all her fault because Margaery had thrown herself that coming out party as a giant _see, it’s not that hard_ screw you to her ex-girlfriend. Thankfully she came to her senses and deleted it before she could hit send.

She tried to blame Brienne for the bodyguard’s looming presence in her life. She tried to resent her height and the crick in her neck that Margaery was getting from always looking up to speak to her. She tried to be annoyed by Brienne’s terrible clothes, an endless rotation of white button downs and badly tailored men’s suits. She even tried to hold her bodyguard responsible for the turned ankle inflicted by the stupidly high heels Margaery had been wearing in order to bring her somewhat closer to Brienne’s height; but Brienne had easily caught her before she could fall, her grip firm on Margaery’s shoulder and hip, and handed her into a cab.

In truth, Brienne was a gentle, reassuring, softly spoken presence and it was hard to work up a good head of steam about her.

She also blushed a bright, mortified red when Margaery looked her up and down and said. “You know, I’ve always liked tall women.”

Margaery had said it out of a mixture boredom and curiosity, she wanted to see how Brienne would react; but it was true enough, Margaery did like tall women. Sansa was tall, willowy and soft where Brienne was solid and strong, and Brienne was taller.

*

Margaery started taking Brienne’s arm when they walked; the first time Brienne had extracted herself to walk on Margaery’s other side, between her and the traffic, but she allowed Margaery to take her other arm.

“Old fashioned gallantry, I like it.”

“I need to be able to reach my gun,” Brienne had mumbled.

Another time Brienne had come into the Tyrell kitchen to get a coffee in just her pants and shirtsleeves, and Margaery had taken her hand around the steaming mug and stroked her thumb across Brienne’s misshapen knuckles.

“Boxing,” Brienne had said, and fled the room before Margaery could say anything suggestive about how butch that was.

Margaery had smoothed Brienne’s jacket across her shoulders; the menswear might hide her shoulder holster, but it did nothing else for Brienne. She’d ran her fingers down the lapels and said, “You must let me take you to a proper tailor.”

Brienne blushed, and mumbled, and averted her gaze, but for the most part she bore Margaery’s flirtations with professional stoicism, and it didn’t occur to Margaery that she might not be enjoying them, at least a little.

* 

In the normal course of events Margaery would have been working on her grandmother’s campaign, but ever since it had come out that Walder Frey had fielded an entire congressional staff out of his pants they had been clamping down on family members working for elected officials.

Brienne accompanied Margaery to her grandmother’s campaign events. She accompanied her to soup kitchens and to read to the elderly; the charity work was mostly political, all part of the Tyrell brand, but Margaery really did get a kick out of it.

*

Brienne sat at the bar with a glass of tap water and cast her professional eye over the other patrons while Margaery had a three martini lunch with Arianne Martell, nodding her agreement that Tyene, Arianne’s cousin-slash-on/off-girlfriend, really was too gay to function in a nunnery.

The Martells were supposedly political enemies of Margaery’s family, but Margaery and Arianne had been at school together and had bonded over Margaery’s confession of a crush on a female teacher and Arianne’s confession of having sex dreams about her hot uncle.

Arianne’s pansexual quasi-incestuous drama had always managed to put whatever lesbian drama Margaery was dealing with into perspective.

Arianne was looking Brienne hunched awkwardly on a barstool. “I miss having a bodyguard,” she sighed wistfully.

“It’s not like you and Daemon Sand," said Margaery. "Brienne really is my bodyguard.”

Arianne gave Brienne a long, critical look. “Well, I wouldn’t really have pegged her for your type. But remember what I said about Sansa, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

*

Sansa Stark was an actress. She was mostly famous for being on a stupid teen show where she played a girl werewolf, and the internet had been full of clickbait articles about how her character was getting a female love interest this season; Margaery had read all of them, and not one had contained any suggestion that Sansa was anything other than tragically heterosexual in real life.

Margaery clicked the television off in disgust when Sansa kissed her onscreen girlfriend; she threw the remote onto the cushions and stomped to the bottom of the stairs. “Brienne! We’re going out.”

*

“Um,” said the girl at the bar when Margaery put her hand on her knee. “I think your girlfriend is watching us.”

Brienne stood against the wall of the club in a semi-circle of empty space, looking like she wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

“She’s not my–” Margaery began. But she didn’t really want to explain why she had a bodyguard to this girl, who she’d been talking to for twenty minutes without taking in anything about her other than the fact that she had long red hair. Time to snap out of it, Tyrell! “Never mind. It was nice to have met you.”

Margaery guessed that shy and uncomfortable looking as she was, Brienne didn’t get a whole lot of people trying to pick her up, and just then that seemed terribly sad and unfair. She picked up her drink, sauntered over to Brienne, and took her arm. “Let’s find a table out of this noise where we can talk, shall we?”

*

Brienne had been in the police force before getting her bodyguard’s license. “Not for very long,” she’d said, but wouldn’t elaborate. “Before your grandmother hired me I worked for the Lannisters.”

“Which Lannister?” Margaery asked, popping a cherry into her mouth.

“Jaime,” answered Brienne with a mix of fondness and exasperation that made Margaery wonder how Brienne would speak of her to her next client.

“So I shouldn’t expect to lose more than a hand while you’re protecting me?”

“Jaime lost his hand before he and I met,” said Brienne with just a touch of professional defensiveness. 

Brienne was technically still on the clock, so she drank water while Margaery was on cocktails; she scanned the club, blushing furiously whenever she saw two women making out.

“You don’t have to worry,” Margaery couldn’t help but tease, “no one will think you’re my girlfriend just because we’re talking.”

“I know that no one would ever think we were together,” Brienne said blandly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that I’ve seen the kind of girls you take home, Margaery.”

“It’s not–” Margaery sighed. “I’m not the dog you think I am.”

“I would never call you that.”

“I had a pretty serious relationship end just before I came home to help with grandmother’s campaign. I suppose I’ve been on the rebound. Breakups can be a bitch.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Brienne. "I never got that far." Something in Margaery’s chest clenched. “Your breakup, it was with that red haired actress who just won a Teen Choice Award, right?”

“How did you know about that?” asked Margaery, meaning both the secret relationship and Sansa’s Teen Choice Award.

“Your grandmother gave me a file on you when she hired me as your bodyguard.”

“And, what, it contained a complete list of my conquests?” Margaery regretted the word _conquests_ as soon as it was out of her mouth, but Brienne just regarded her solemnly.

“Three pages,” she said. “Front and back.”

The corner of Brienne’s mouth twitched slightly, and Margaery laughed a high delighted laugh. “Are you teasing me? Brienne, you’re actually teasing me.”

She tipped her cocktail against Brienne’s water with a clink.

*

Margaery was a little tipsy by the end of the evening, and she was glad of Brienne’s strong arm around her waist as they returned to the Tyrell mansion.

Brienne was still supporting Margaery as she dug in her purse for her keys; she looked up to see Brienne’s face lit by moonlight. “You have beautiful eyes.” It was something Margaery had thought before but hadn’t said because it was a cheesy as hell line, but in that moment it wasn’t a line, it was simply true.

She expected Brienne to blush and look away; instead she held Margaery’s gaze, her beautiful cornflower blue eyes filling with tears. 

“Please,” she said, and Margaery raised a hand to cup her cheek. She stood on her tiptoes to bring her mouth close to Brienne’s. “Please don’t,” said Brienne.

Margaery landed heavily on her heels. Brienne plucked the keys from her grasp, opened the door, and maneuvered Margaery inside with a professional hand between her shoulder blades.

Margaery stood in confused, tipsy silence while Brienne brushed angry tears from her eyes. When she spoke her voice was cracked. “It’s not funny, not from you.”

Brienne left Margaery standing alone in the front hall.

*

Margaery woke up to find a glass of water and a plate of crackers on her bedside table. None of the other Tyrell children or grandchildren were in residence, so they had to be from Brienne.

She nibbled a cracker and thought back to the night before. Making a drunken pass at your bodyguard wasn’t exactly the done thing, but Brienne had overreacted, right?

Unless, she had been flirting with Brienne for weeks now, and it wasn’t as though the bodyguard had any choice about spending all her waking hours in Margaery's company.

Margaery was beautiful, she was rich, and she had _near_ perfect gaydar, it was rare that she flirted with someone who didn’t welcome her advances. Had she inadvertently been creeping on Brienne all this time?

Margaery flopped back down onto her pillows and resisted the urge to pull the covers up over her head.

*

Margaery and Brienne retreated to a place of professional courtesy.

Brienne still tailed Margaery everywhere, but she no longer teased her and Margaery hadn’t woken up to any more crackers by her bedside. Margaery treated Brienne with the faultless yet shallow kindness she reserved for her grandmother’s aides, but she didn’t insist that Brienne accompany her to any more lesbian clubs, and she stopped bringing one night stands home - not, as Arianne suggested, because she was running out of willing redheads, but because she wanted Brienne to think better of her.

*

Loras visited for election night. Margaery threw her arms around her brother in a hug; Loras squeezed her, then caught sight of Brienne over her shoulder.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Brienne the beauty.”

“Loras.”

Margaery blinked in surprise. “Wait, you two know each other?”

“Didn’t she tell you?” said Loras. “Brienne used to be Renly’s bodyguard.”

“I suppose that bodes well for me,” said Margaery lightly, because suddenly you could have cut the tension in the Tyrell living room with a knife. “After all, Renly’s still with us.”

“Margaery,” said Brienne stiffly, “let me know when you’re ready to leave, until then I’ll be in my room.”

*

“What was all that about with Brienne?” Margaery asked.

She and Loras were lolling about on the couches watching the election results roll in from the other regions until they were expected at their grandmother’s campaign headquarters; Loras had booed when Renly’s hard drinking, skirt chasing oldest brother was re-elected, and cheered when Stannis lost after a soul crushingly dull campaign on good governance.

Loras stifled a laugh with his fist. “Oh, that. Brienne was in love with Renly.”

“What? She’s _never_ straight.”

Loras shrugged. “Who knows what Brienne is? Honestly, I think she would have licked the hand of anyone who was even a little bit nice to her. She’s like a dog that’s been kicked too many times, that one. Especially after the police thing. Renly was the one who suggested she go for her bodyguard’s license, and then he hired her, even though I–”

“Wait, go back,” ordered Margaery. “What police thing?”

Loras sat up straight and pulled a cushion onto his lap, as though he was about to share a particularly juicy tidbit of gossip. “There was a book going round the station she worked at, half the precinct was betting on who could be the first to bang big Brienne. Apparently it was up to more than a year’s salary when their captain found out and put a stop to it.”

“That’s _awful_.” 

“Well, yeah.” Loras had the good grace to look abashed, but only for a moment. “I still can’t believe they found an entire police station full of people willing to take Brienne to bed for any amount of money.”

“I would,” said Margaery. Then again, with more conviction. “I would climb her like a tree.”

Loras threw a cushion at her. “That’s because you’re kind of a hound, sister dear.”

*

Margaery was supposed to be getting ready for her grandmother’s victory party - the result hadn’t been called yet, but her victory had never been in doubt; the polls were decisive, and the opposition had only run Alester Florent as a sacrificial lamb in order to have a name on the ballot - but she couldn’t stop thinking about Brienne.

Brienne’s overreaction to Margaery’s clumsy come-on made sense now.

Margaery felt terrible; she couldn’t imagine going through life believing that any time anyone showed interest in her it was the prelude to an extremely cruel joke. She felt even worse when she remembered that she herself had started flirting with Brienne as a joke; it hadn’t been a knowingly cruel joke, but it had been a mocking attempt to make the bodyguard’s presence in her life less tedious, and there was no way Brienne didn’t know that. Margaery cringed.

*

Brienne had been given use of the room across the hall from Margaery’s bedroom. She opened the door in socks, dress pants, and a pale blue button down which brought out her eyes.

“Are you ready to leave?”

“No,” said Margaery, stepping into the room. “Loras has a forty minute date with his bathroom mirror and a conditioning treatment.”

Brienne’s jacket was over the back of a chair along with her shoulder holster and gun; on the chair sat one of Brienne’s flat black shoes and a tin of polish, which made Margaery smile.

“I really do think that you have beautiful eyes,” said Margaery, stepping close to Brienne. “I really do like that you’re tall. I–”

 _I am not joking_ would reveal that Loras had told Margaery about Brienne’s past, and Brienne already looked too likely to bolt for _I would like to climb you like a tree_.

She took Brienne’s hand, stroked her thumb over her knuckles, and stretched up on her tiptoes. With Margaery in high heels and Brienne in her socked feet it wasn’t too much of a stretch for Margaery to press her lips to Brienne’s

“You’re not thinking,” Brienne breathed, her mouth inches from Margaery’s. “You’re heartbroken.”

“I’m not, not anymore.”

There had been pictures online of Sansa and Harry something or other, the heir to a pharmaceutical fortune. Margaery had briefly wondered if he was Sansa’s boyfriend or her beard, before realising that she didn’t care one way or the other. 

Brienne gently pushed Margaery away. “I’m your bodyguard, it would be unprofessional.”

Margaery bit her bottom lip. “But only until the end of the party tonight, right? That’s when your contract with the campaign ends.”

“Margaery, I–”

“Just think about it, please. When all this is over I’d like to take you out; I’d like to see more of you, in a non-bodyguard context.”

Margaery turned to leave; she wouldn’t push it.

“Wait,” Brienne caught Margaery’s hand. “There’s something you should know. The campaign received another threat, about you, about the party tonight.”

Margaery faced Brienne, and smiled a brave smile; she squeezed Brienne’s hand. “It’s just some internet weirdo, though, and anyway I have you.”

*

The thing about internet weirdos, Margaery thought, was that ninety-nine of them might be harmless, pathetic losers, but the hundredth would turn up at a governor’s victory party and start shooting.

There was shouting: partygoers, and security, and her grandmother’s voice rising above them all.

Brienne was still on top of Margaery from when she’d tackled her to the ground, and her knee was jammed into Margaery’s crotch; dizzily, Margaery was surprised, she’d expected Brienne to want take things slow.

Margaery felt wetness on her shoulder, and she wondered if it was possible to have been shot and not realise it. And then she realised that it wasn’t her blood.

“Brienne?" Margaery pushed against Brienne's shoulder; her hand came away bloody. "Grandmother, help!”

*

It had taken being the granddaughter of the governor as well as the fact that Margaery had volunteered at this hospital in high school to get her into Brienne’s room.

Brienne was sitting on the edge of her hospital bed in pants and a white vest; gauze and bandages were wrapped around her upper arm.

“Hey,” said Margaery softly, stepping close to the bed. She ghosted her fingertips down Brienne’s bicep and traced the edge of the bandage. “Does it hurt?”

“It was only a graze,” Brienne replied, then when Margaery raised an eyebrow she added, “and they gave me some pretty good painkillers.”

“I’ve been thinking about how I said I wanted to take you out when all this was over–”

“If you’ve changed your mind–?”

“Changed my mind?” Margaery scoffed. “You took a bullet for me.”

“I was only doing my job.”

Margaery rolled her eyes fondly. “I thought that we might skip straight to the goodnight kiss, if that's okay?"

She slid her hands up Brienne’s bare arms, and round her neck to toy with the soft straw-coloured hairs at her nape. Margaery leaned in, and paused for a moment to see if Brienne was going to startle, before pressing forward to kiss her.

It was awkward for a moment. Their teeth clanked together and Brienne’s hands hovered awkwardly near Margaery’s hips, then Margaery corrected, tilting her head, and Brienne slid her hands to Margaery’s back, pulling her close so that she was standing between Brienne’s thighs.

And then it was good; maybe not _worth being shot_ good, but good.


End file.
